


today, tomorrow, and every day after

by brosura



Series: Promptis Fanweek One-Shots (to the tune of Cut To The Feeling) [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Weddings, u kno just that good good wedding cheese and me ignoring that anything bad happens at all, welcome to the good time train lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosura/pseuds/brosura
Summary: “Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, irreverent?” Prompto says, even though he’s guilty of getting a laugh out of it. “Talking about your own family like that?”“You’ll get used to it.” Noctis shrugs. There’s something pleased in the sparkle of his eye and his half grin as he says, “They’ll be your family, too.”It’s a confusing jumble of emotions that he swallows down to say, with a shaky laugh, “I guess you’re right.”





	today, tomorrow, and every day after

**Author's Note:**

> please enjoy two of my critical weaknesses: maiwwage and the boys being gentle with children

“So,” Prompto opens, holding out the syllable as he gently shoves Noctis with his elbow in greeting. “Heard I’ll be taking your title. How’s it feel knowing you’re going to get replaced in history as the most handsome prince Lucis has ever seen?”

He tries to say it casually, tries to act like the news Ignis had given him during one of their court etiquette training sessions didn’t affect him. The news that once the best, most terrifyingly public day of Prompto’s life - the day of his wedding to his best friend who happened to be the soon-to-be coronated King - was over, he had a title, genuine and dramatic, to carry with him wherever he went.

A new label to add to his list, one which had started growing rapidly ever since the media caught wind of their engagement. He’s still not sure if he’ll be remembered as the  _“fresh-face fiance”_ or  _“prince,”_ but he’s certain that _“prince”_  will bring with it all kinds of  _interest_ that he isn’t certain he’s prepared for.

So it’s under the weight of his newfound responsibility that his voice cracks, ever so slightly, as he teases Noctis. And Noctis seems to notice, because he smooths a steady hand over Prompto’s back before closing what little distance there is between them until he’s a reassuring warmth at Prompto’s side.

“Pretty sure I didn’t have that title to begin with,” he teases. “Most handsome, I mean. Prince definitely applies, but I’ve been told Great Great Great Grandpa Sidus was a real looker in his day. But,” Noctis pauses for emphasis, giving Prompto’s waist a little squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll give him a run for his money.”

“As if,” Prompto scoffs. “I don’t have to, uh, I don’t have to know who that is, right?”

Noctis laughs a little - that warm, breathy sound - and Prompto finds himself feeling the nervous thrumming in his veins calm just a little as he laughs with him.

The last few weeks have been stressful, to say the least. The last few months since the public announcement of their engagement have been stressful, but they were easier because Noctis was always with him. 

But for the last few weeks, preparations for Noct’s coronation have kept him busy. And for the last few weeks, Prompto has had to endure being separated save for the short moments in between when Ignis’ grace and Noct’s cunning brought their schedules together for a quick kiss and conversation in the hall or a meal that’s barely touched.

It’s lonely, but it isn’t the bone-deep kind of loneliness Prompto used to feel when he was young in a clean, empty house. It’s temporary and light and has an aftertaste more like excitement than anything else. It’s a loneliness he can endure with the promise of the ring on his finger, the promise to never be lonely again.

But, well, there’s a lot of other things he has to endure. For example, learning all about the history of the royal line of Lucis.

“You don’t have to,” Noctis answers. He tucks his head in and murmurs, conspiratorial, “I only really remember as far back as King Sidus, if I’m going to be honest. And that’s just because his portrait’s up in the library. And I wasn’t kidding, he’s got a made-for-television face, you know? Bet they used to sell posters to keep morale up.”

“Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know, irreverent?” Prompto says, even though he’s guilty of getting a laugh out of it. “Talking about your own family like that?”

“You’ll get used to it.” Noctis shrugs. There’s something pleased in the sparkle of his eye and his half grin as he says, “They’ll be your family, too.”

It’s a confusing jumble of emotions that he swallows down to say, with a shaky laugh, “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Noctis looks ethereal in his father’s crown.

It’s technically his, he’s technically the King now that this part of the ceremony is over. But Prompto hasn’t been paying attention to the formalities, not really. He could barely focus on them with the way Noctis looks.

He’s dressed in all black, a suit that he overheard the press saying was modeled after the one his father wore on his coronation, the gold accents about his cape and shoulder glimmering faintly in the light cascading through the high tinted windows of the citadel. He stands straight and proud, the perfect image of royalty down to the silvery crown piercing through his dark hair. But his eyes are glistening as he gives his father a wide, shaky smile, as his father gives him one in return.

It feels private, intimate, like he shouldn’t be watching as Regis says something to Noctis, too quiet to hear anything other than the pride and love in just the sound of his voice. As Noctis lets out a breathy laugh that sounds like the end of a chapter, the strange mix of relief and anticipation.

He doesn’t belong here, he can’t stop himself from thinking.

Maybe it’s the weeks they spent apart, maybe it’s seeing Noctis like this, maybe it’s the realization that in a few months’ time, he’ll be married to the king that brings back the fears that plagued him when he and Noctis first gave a name to the thing between them. The strange guilt that he felt whenever he caught Noctis looking at him, eyes so full of affection that Prompto had to look away. He still doesn’t understand, sometimes, what Noctis saw in him that made him look at him like that.

But at the same time, even though it feels selfish, he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want anything else but to be here because he loves Noctis, as the king and as his best friend, and he’s grateful every day that Noctis loves him back.

He’s grateful to be standing here, watching Noctis - his fiance - take on the legacy of his family, the next chapter in his story.

He’s grateful that he’ll get to be with Noctis, that he’ll get to stand with him for the rest of his life.

And he’s grateful that Ignis is standing next to him when the first of the tears come. He notices before Prompto does and gently shoves his shoulder, pressing a handkerchief into his hand discreetly.

“Goodness,” he teases in a low whisper, voice light and full of emotion in its own way. “Will I need to bring a dishrag to your wedding?”

Prompto laughs, as quietly as he can, and turns towards Ignis to shield his face as he presses the handkerchief to the corner of his eye.

“Probably,” he says, quiet. “Just to be safe.”

* * *

“Your highness,” Prompto hears as he and Noctis walk to their rooms from the third day of after-partying their wedding.

They’re not sober - like they were for the reception - but they’re not drunk, either, which is more than they can claim about yesterday’s party. There was too much tradition riding on the wedding for either Noctis or Prompto to get a legitimate bachelor’s party, but that was fine by them. It was more fun being able to drink together, anyway, alongside a cohort of their peers (Crownsguard and nobles on Noct’s end, some Kingsglaive from Prompto’s) that made the same  _wink-wink-nudge-nudge_  jokes they probably would have made two weeks before the wedding that they’re making now, a week after it.

It’s kind of nice, being eased back into the swing of things after a honeymoon that felt too short and like some kind of peaceful eternity at the same time. Being eased back in by seven consecutive days of partying, that is.

But it’s a good mix of tradition and fun, Prompto’s found. Their first day back was a casual, but extremely press-covered dinner, their second day Prompto can barely remember, and today was kind of like a semi-exclusive ball with tall flutes of champagne and a lot of mingling with city officials and nobles.

Tomorrow is something considerably fancier, which is why they’re sneaking out early and letting their half-drunk elders take over the dance floor.

Well, sneaking out isn’t the best way to phrase it, since they seem to have passed by almost everyone in attendance on the way out. He’s just let Noctis handle the goodnights and farewells for the most part, and he’s content to let him handle whoever’s called him now.

But he hears it again, more insistent this time. “Your highness!”

He’s ready to elbow Noctis to _say something_  when he feels Noctis elbowing him instead. He turns to him with a confused frown and Noctis just laughs.

“That’s  _you,”_  Noctis whispers, and nods to an older woman in a fancy dress behind them pushing a child along in front of her.

“O-oh, right, that’s me!” Prompto says, bashful, as he separates from Noctis to address the woman. “Sorry about that, madam, I’m still getting used to the title! You’re all so quick on the uptake!”

“Mother said it would be rude if I forgot,” the child says, pointedly forgetting.

“Your highness,” her mother reminds her in a hissed whisper.

“It’s alright,” Prompto says with a laugh, squatting down to her eye level. “You can call me Prompto since we’re friends! And what’s your name?”

“Ariadne,” the girl says, but it seems like an obstacle for her to get over since she’s frowning with the earnestness of a child that’s eager to complain about something. “I was supposed to throw the flowers at your wedding, but I couldn’t.”

“She was sick, your highness,” her mother clarifies. “Could hardly walk, the poor thing. She’s been upset about it since. But,” her mother says, with a gentle nudge. “She wanted to tell you something.”

“Congratulations on your marriage,” she says, slowly and carefully and in a tone that suggests a lot of rehearsal.

“Well thank you, Ariadne! And I’m sorry you couldn’t make it,” he says. He isn’t sure if head pats are against noble etiquette even after all his last-minute tutoring sessions, so he just gives her an apologetic grin.

“Between you and me,” he hears Noctis say, exaggerated and conspiratorial, and looks over to find that he’s squatted down, too. “I heard it was kind of boring.”

Noctis gives him a conspiratorial wink, but it’s unnecessary since Prompto was already in the process of giving him a wink of his own.

“Oh yeah,” Prompto says in the same exaggerated tone. “And  _so_  long!”

That part is a lie. The wedding, for how long the preparations and the months leading up to it felt, passed by quickly in Prompto’s memory. He just remembered buzzing with nervousness in a room as he bantered with the photographers that posed him for the album and then being led towards the aisle and then down the aisle and then seeing Noctis. 

He doesn’t remember much else after that but Noctis and the smile on his lips, the warmth of his hand, the way his voice trembled as they exchanged vows.

The rest of it, well, “It was a lot of just standing around.”

“Mother let me fast forward through that part!” Ariadne says and she seems satisfied that they agree with her. “And the crying!”

_“Ariadne!”_ her mother scolds just as Prompto chokes around a nervous laugh.

He remembers that part, too.

“See?” Noctis says, but Prompto can hear in his tone that he’s amused. “Wasn’t so bad you missed it.”

“Oh,” Ariadne cuts in, remembering something. “But I liked your clothes! They were very pretty, just like in the fairytales! You,” she points to indicate Prompto, “looked like the Prince Charming!”

Prompto manages a sheepish, “Oh yeah?”

“I thought so, too,” Noctis adds, unhelpfully, and gives Prompto a look that’s both teasing and full of affection.

And if Ariadne didn’t seem to be on Noct’s good side by virtue of being a child, she’d parked herself firmly into “current favorite” with that last comment. Noctis takes one look at the gardens to their right and gives her a wide grin and a pat on the head - apparently not against noble etiquette - and says, “Hey, since you missed out on throwing flowers at the wedding, how about we throw some now?”

Ariadne’s grin is so wide that her mother concedes immediately, if a little anxiously, and Prompto watches with amusement as Noctis leads her to the garden along a strategic path towards the flowers that had numbers and hardiness on their side.

Later, he’ll follow them and help them pick apart the flowers that Ariadne will carry in her skirt and toss over the grass as he and Noctis mimic the sounds and ceremony of a procession. Later, they’ll walk over the path she makes, hand in hand, laughing with the same giddiness that he’d felt during their actual wedding.

But for now, Prompto just takes in the charming sight of Noctis crouching to help a little girl tear flowers from a bush and thanks anyone that’s listening that he’s married to this man.

There must be something in his face that’s mushy and fond because Ariadne’s mother clears her throat.

“I meant to say it myself, your highness, but congratulations on the wedding,” she says with a small, knowing smile when Prompto turns to her. “I would say I wish you a happy future, but you seem to have that figured out on your own.”

Prompto lets out a small, breathy laugh and turns back to watch Noctis smile fondly at something the girl is saying as she looks at the flower in her hands, to take in every line of his face and the kind, warm look in his eyes.

He gets what she means, every future with Noctis by his side seems like a good one. And when Noctis looks away from the girl to give him that toothy grin, full of affection, Prompto understands he must feel the same way about him.

And even though it’s a week after their wedding, three days after their honeymoon, Prompto still feels breathless with the same reverie, the same giddiness of disbelief and gratitude as he says, “I guess you’re right.”  

**Author's Note:**

> some gardener the next morning: What Happened Here
> 
> thanks for the read! if things pan out you'll get one more entry for pwomptis week (t tonight???)!!
> 
> and feel free to shout at me in the comments or give me a lil yell on my [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary)!


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